There was this sky
Ordinary, as skies go
Blue, white, pink and orange
Grey and yellow too,
But mostly, mostly blue
Distant, untouchable blue.
Far in the distance,
The chameleon (but blue) sky
Met the earth
In a smoky haze of grey and purple.
In that distant inky world
Resplendent with imagination,
Stories were born,
Tales flew away and on
Discovering fresh distances.
The story isn’t of the sky
But of the smoky blue horizon
And more than that
This is her story;
She to whom
The unattainable horizon
Was the whole world,
IS the whole world.
She cared nothing for the sky
That vague, dreamy one,
She loved the horizon
With a hesitant, trembling gratitude
She would stand staring at it
For many lost hours
Her eyes lit by an unseen smile
Limbs dancing to an unheard beat
As if she was about to fly into its grey arms.
Yes, she loved the horizon
The crazy fool.
It was the possibilities, perhaps
That the misty horizon presented
Is it not the blurred and undefined
That lends itself most willingly
To a world of impossibilities?
It is the unspelled that has room
For a heart- full of words to hide
So, perhaps, why she loved it,
The soft, fuzzy horizon.
Then came the day,
As everyone but her, knew it would.
The horizon must go,
She cried nor protested
Just looked and looked
With her dumb eyes
Eyes sans the worldliness
To pull a curtain over their windows
Exposing her soul, undressed
Within their unfathomable depths.
She looked at them with those eyes
Silent and wordless
And they saw her soul
Laid bare, helpless
An animal caught
In the blazing headlights
Of a speeding automobile.
They ran her over,
Cursing her angrily
For her dumbness, her stupidity
Why did she let them do it to her?
The fault was hers!
They stridently claimed!
She wouldn’t have anywhere to go,
They were sure.
Who will catch her rampant imagination?
Where will she dream of flying?
Who will hold her impossibilities
Hidden in their strong grey arms?
How will she live
without her passionate love?
She will beg them, they thought
She will tell them of her dreams
Show them intricate wings she was weaving,
She might even tell them her foolish stories
Stories of unattainable passions
And untamed, feral dreams
But she didn’t.
After they had unhooked
Her beloved smoky horizon
She looked dumbly on.
Her silence unbroken
By words nor cries
If only someone had peered
Into her depths,
They would spied a conflagration
Her soul twisting,
Like a tongue of flame.
In the bustle of their departure
They were raucous and boisterous
They didn’t hear her, therefore,
When she spoke at last.
Her words were swept away
Into the darkness of futility
“Please don’t take away the horizon,”,
She whispered softly,
“where will my sun rise when he wakes up in the morning?”
Note: This is the 200th post on this blog. I have been blogging for almost six years now, but this blog was set up three years ago. 200 posts in three years is certainly not a big deal. I know people who have done as much in a year.
Yet I feel solemn and grateful tonight.
This virtual space has been my only solace more times than I care to count. It has been my catharsis; it has been the shoulder I have cried on. It has also been a place of growth as many, many of you have shared your stories with an open heart. You trust and generosity has opened my eyes and heart to the invisible epiphanies that I might otherwise have remained blind to, but for the light of your grace. Thank you for this gift, my dear readers. You bless my life.
May god keep you in His care and give you reasons to be grateful.
PS: Err… sorry for throwing a poem at your unsuspecting heads. I know I can’t twirl a decent word, but indulge me this once. Please. 😀